


more than just a dream

by thispieceofmind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, A majority of it takes place on a bus, AU, Angst, Fluff, Highschool AU, M/M, and theres a lot of music involved, i don't want to give too much away?, shamelessly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis ride the bus together, and they share a song a day. </p>
<p>
  <em>"He makes to sit in his usual seat, but as soon as he goes to scuttle down the aisle, a hand is present around his wrist, Louis looking up at him with those bright eyes, and he pats the seat next to him. Harry glances down, and he decides to sit because Louis is cute, and he liked The Neighbourhood, and he’s got a nice smile that Harry doesn’t really mind looking at."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than just a dream

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is based off of a little something similar that's happening to my friend Casey, so this is for her! when she told me i freaked out so much and had to write a fic about it. this involves (as said in the tags) a lot of music, but every single song is linked, and i suggest listening for the "full affect". i hope you enjoy !

**more than just a dream**

It starts in the spring. He’s just finished class, and last week he turned in a paper that was apparently brilliant because his teacher won’t stop babbling about how _lovely_ it is. At first, it was nice, but he just wants to go home, and she really won’t shut up. He doesn’t need this right now. 

“Honestly, Harry. It’s the best thing I’ve read all year! Have you thought of English as your major in uni in a few years?”

“Uhm, no. I was thinking business, more. But I’ve really got to run, Miss K! See you tomorrow!” 

And before she can even get another word out, he slings his bag over his shoulder and runs for the hills. (Or rather, his bus.)

It’s disgusting, how full it is. Ordinarily, Harry gets to the bus prompt and early because he wants nothing more than to get home after sitting in class all day. Normally, it’s earbuds in, sitting in his seat that he has every day, but being held behind has left him with wandering eyes, looking for a place to sit. He sighs and adjusts the cord in his iPod, looking toward the only empty seat. Sighing, he looks in the very front and asks gently to the boy in the two-seater, “Can I sit with you?”

“Sure,” he responds, and scoots in toward the window, letting Harry slump in defeat, long day getting to his head. He presses his forehead to the fake, plastic-y material in front of him, and flicks through his music for something relaxing to listen to. Then there’s an outrageously obnoxious breathing down his neck, but he doesn’t snap because he has no reason to be rude. 

He knows who it is, sure. Louis Tomlinson, two years above him, golden, gorgeous, footballer. He’s got the bright pants and the brighter eyes, the cardigans and glasses that make him small and approachable, but the tight jeans and low cut tops that make him dangerous and hot. Harry may or may not admire him from afar. But at the moment, his breath in Harry’s ear is making him rather uncomfortable, so he shifts in his seat and looks up with wide eyes at the boy who is currently leaning all over him. 

“Er, hi?”

“Hi!” Louis chirps happily, and Harry doesn’t understand his good mood in the slightest, how he’s so chipper after school for six hours. But he gives him a smile anyway, just because he’s cute. “Harry, right?

“Right,” Harry says, nodding. “And you’re Louis?”

“I am, most days,” Louis agrees, looking cunning.

“And the others?” Harry wonders. 

“I couldn’t tell you that, now could I? That’s called letting the cat out of the bag, and we just can’t have that. I don’t spill my secrets so easily."

“I see,” Harry says, simply because he has nothing else to add. So they know each other, just not really. Acquainted through others, perhaps. Not first hand, certainly. Harry is a little giddy but mostly tired. He goes back to flicking through artists. He lands on The Neighbourhood and tips his head back when a song plays, closing his eyes and drumming his fingers absently. 

Louis asks what he’s listening to. Harry tells him that it’s “Sweater Weather” by the Neighbourhood, and that he should look it up when he gets home, but for now he’ll share his earbuds. So they listen to the whole album, and that’s how it starts. 

***

On Tuesday, Harry has only thought of the day before, like, four times, so when he’s getting on the bus at the end of the day, he doesn’t really think anything of it. He makes to sit in his usual seat, but as soon as he goes to scuttle down the aisle, a hand is present around his wrist, Louis looking up at him with those bright eyes, and he pats the seat next to him. Harry glances down, and he decides to sit because Louis is cute, and he liked The Neighbourhood, and he’s got a nice smile that Harry doesn’t really mind looking at. 

Louis taps once on his earbud jutting out of his ear, and Harry tugs them out and pauses the music on his iPod because he figures that can be the only thing he’s asking. 

“You’re gonna sit with me on the bus from now on,” Louis murmurs cheerfully, as if Harry has no say in it. “You’re nice to talk to. And I’ve got a song for you.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, because how could he not? He tucks his iPod into his pocket. 

“I want you to listen to ‘[Spring](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GL0CoKeE3AE)’ by Two Door Cinema Club,” Louis tells him. 

Harry blinks. “I already know that song.” 

Louis waves it off. “Doesn’t matter. Listen to it either way.”

“Okay,” Harry says again. 

“And do you have one for me?” Louis prods, leaning forward so his hair falls into his eyes. Harry still thinks he’s cute. He’s obnoxious, a little, but in a cute way. Harry likes him. 

“Uh... listen to ‘[Trojans](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd2yr12abg8)’; I love that song.”

“Who’s it by?” Louis asks. 

“Atlas Genius.”

Louis shrugs, digs through his bag, and pulls out a pen. He writes the song title and the band on the back of his hand, and that’s how it keeps going. 

Harry goes home and listens to “Spring” on repeat.  
***

It carries on nearly the same, except, Harry finds that Louis is less obnoxious than he’d initially thought, but actually genuine and a fucking _riot._ He gets dirty looks from his bus driver from laughing too hard and too loudly, and he has to muffle the sounds into his hands and eventually Louis’ shoulder. They end up talking about their days and their dreams and the stupid shit their classmates do, and it’s really, really nice. Harry spends his days looking forward to bus rides home and sunny smiles and a song (that he usually already knows) to listen to. 

Louis never seems to recognize his, though, but in the mornings on the bus to school, they sit in silence (because you don’t talk that early in the morning. You just sit) and Harry’ll get a thumbs up or a quiet _I liked that one_ or lyrics whispered into his ear. It’s mostly traded alternative songs and indie and folk and old rock when Harry feels like it. He spends a lot of time thinking about the way Louis’ fingers drum on his thigh and the days when he wears no glasses and days he _does,_ and how he still thinks he’s damn fit. 

Harry likes how it’s going. 

***

Admittedly, there’s a doodle of Louis’ name and a heart in the upper right corner of Harry’s notebook, but – nobody’s going to find out about that. And, really, it’s last period, and he’s in his damn English class with the annoying teacher, and the boy who sits next to him smells like pot and whiskey everyday. He sighs heavily when his teacher writes _To Kill a Mockingbird_ on the board and she calls on weed boy to hand out the novels. 

He lets himself zone out, because, well, that’s going to take a while. He props his head up on one hand and listens to the song that’s been running through his head all day. Louis gave it to him yesterday, with bright eyes and a bright grin and his shirt low cut enough to display those pretty, golden collarbones that Harry really wouldn’t mind biting. He writes out the lyrics in the margin of his page, and though he would never admit this to anyone, hearts, too. (He hopes like hell he never loses this notebook.)

When the kid who reeks of pot sits back down next to him and hands him a book, he sighs again, writes his name in the front cover, and watches the clock until dismissal because he’s giving Lou a [The 1975 song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfBKqaVk2Co) today. (He doesn’t think he’s ever left class that fast.) 

***

Harry’s affinity for music has always led him to listening to lyrics. He’s not the type just sit and use music as background noise. He _listens._ He picks apart the instruments and the beat and the lyrics. _Especially_ the lyrics. So, it’s not long before he starts to panic, because Louis gives him “[Faster](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyjQFdeFox8)” by Matt Nathanson, and Harry freaks out a little because that song talks about _the way you smile, baby,_ and _you rattle my bones,_ and well, Harry listens too hard and panics a little. He grins at Louis though, when he tells him. 

“I love that song!” Harry exclaims, not even trying to stop the blush that blooms in his cheeks. (He tries to tell himself he’s over-thinking it.)

“My taste is impeccable,” Louis agrees. “I know.” 

Harry laughs, but his heart is beating really fast in his chest. Oddly enough, he had planned to give Louis a song called “[Heartbeat](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wq-8dxYHnyU)” because – well, he reads into lyrics and they talk about how _you make my heart beat beat a beat, like a drum for you._ So he flicks that song to the back of his mind and gives him “[Iscariot](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8ba1CT4GoA)” because there aren’t too many underlying messages about love and attraction in a song about Jesus and Judas. 

Louis grins anyway, writes it on the messy back of his hand, and says he’ll look it up. 

***

“Do you like Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros?” Harry asks a few days later (after many of playing it safe by giving songs that couldn’t be lyrically interpreted to give leeway to his crush in any sense of the word.) 

“Love ‘em,” Louis breathes into Harry’s neck, where his head is resting. Harry can tell he’s tired. It’s Wednesday and they’re only halfway through the week and Harry keeps smoothing the hair from Louis eyes because he knows he won’t do it himself. 

“I’m giving you a song either way,” Harry murmurs. 

“Which one?” Louis mumbles into skin. Harry absently traces the few freckles that dot Louis’ forearm. 

“‘[Home](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHEOF_rcND8),’” Harry replies. 

“That’s a good one,” Louis says. “M’tired,” he says. 

“I know, babe,” Harry replies. 

“I gotta give you a song,” Louis says. 

“I know, babe,” Harry repeats. “Then you can sleep until your stop, yeah?”

“I had one for you. It’s on a note in my bag. Take that, I’m gonna sleep.”

Harry whispers okay into his hair, but he’s not too sure he hears. He pulls Louis’ backpack up from the floor and reaches into the front pocket. There are three pieces of paper. One is a list of songs. He scans it quickly and realizes that it’s all the ones Harry’s given him. His heart soars with something that feels like fondness, but quickly tucks it back in the pocket. The next one is a note he’d obviously passed with a friend in class, and he doesn’t bother to read any more than he needs to. The last one just has _[firefly](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JigjU373SKY) – ed sheeran _ written on it in a messy scrawl, and Harry reads it and turns red. He knows that song and he knows the lyrics and he even knows some of the chords on guitar. 

He lets the warmth of Louis’ breath wash over his skin, and he pulls him closer. He thinks of what song he’s going to give tomorrow. 

***

Harry hates history. He really, really hates history. His teacher gave them busywork twenty minutes ago that Harry finished in about five, and when he glances up he’s fairly certain the old fart of a professor is about to pass out behind his computer screen. (Harry doesn’t think he’d mind too much.) He taps on his desk and doodles in his margins again, but winds up surrendering and pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He skims through songs and his Louis playlist with all the tracks he’s given him, and he looks at the one he plans on giving him today. Growing bored quickly, he flicks through Instagram to pass the time. 

There’s stupid memes that he doesn’t understand why people post, an overwhelming number of selfies, an innumerable amount of pictures of the sky, and shoes. Lots of shoes. He stops when he sees louist91 atop a photo of the vinyls in the record shop in town with the caption  _yeah, that heart that beats as one //_ _it’s collectively, unconsciously composed._ And Harry smiles all big and wide because he gave Louis [that song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RZqPq1-1Tw) the other day. His heart soars in his chest, and he then proceeds to spend the rest of the period scanning Louis’ photos, liking a few (but not too many, he doesn’t want to be _that_ creepy) and grinning at the artsy ones and blushing when he sees his soft fringe falling in his eyes in a selfie or the sunlight glinting off his sunglasses with a picture with the footy team. 

He fiddles with his thumb and hears the thump thump in his chest, and Harry thinks _it’s collectively, unconsciously composed._ It’s not so bad of a history class. 

***

A week later and he’s giving Louis “[Baby, I’m Yours](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDLhMf6voq8)” because Harry _really_ likes the Arctic Monkeys, and he thinks Louis will, too. It’s gorgeous outside, with a bright blue sky that remind Harry of Louis’ eyes and puffy clouds that look like dragons and kitties. So Harry’s in a good mood. He gets on the bus and presses his thigh close to Louis’ and swings a happy arm around his shoulder. 

“Good afternoon, Lou,” Harry chirps. 

“So chipper today! Did you pass your math quiz or is it just my gorgeous face?” Louis asks. 

Harry genuinely pauses and decides on, “Both, actually. Plus, I’ve got a good song for you.”

“Have at it, then,” Louis says, 

Harry clears his throat, looks at the disgusting bus floor, and then back at Louis. “‘Baby I’m Yours’ – Arctic Monkeys. Have you heard it?”

Louis shakes his head. “As much as I am acquainted with the Arctic Monkeys, I don’t know that one.”

“You’ll look it up?” Harry asks, even though he’s well aware of the answer. 

“Course,” Louis replies. He lets his eyes flutter shut, and Harry watches the way his eyelashes brush against his cheeks and he looks all at ease. He’s stunning. Harry wants to kiss him. He doesn’t, but thinks he might, eventually. “I’ve got one for you, as well.”

“I’d hope so,” Harry replies. 

“Cheeky,” Louis smirks, opening his eyes and nudging his knuckles gently along Harry’s jaw. Harry giggles. “Do you like Ben Howard?” 

Harry perks up immediately. “Fuckin’ love him. I think I saw him a year ago, maybe? Could be longer. What song?”

“‘[Only Love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWlKZ6C7cDY)’,” Louis says. “I’m sorry I’m not as underground as you,” he teases. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Hey. I’m only like, halfway underground. Like, a shovel or something. At least I’m not a pretentious arsehole. I could easily be a tunnel. Fully submerged.”

“You’re right. You’re just a regular arsehole,” Louis sighs happily. 

“Love you, too,” Harry grumbles. 

Louis pats his cheek again and launches into a story about the dumb ass in his Lit class who came in stoned and knocked over a desk. Harry laughs the whole time. 

***

He thinks “[Can’t Help Falling in Love With You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pe3LKWmjG5I)” might be a little forward, but it’s also a lot true, because it’s been nearly a month and the thing that’s on his mind most are blue eyes with crinkles at the side and witty remarks that make him snort into the back of his hand. So he gets on the bus with a swing in his step because there is a special place in his heart for Fleet Foxes and that cover, and he gets to see Louis’ pretty smile. And it’s not like he’s _sure_ Louis’s reading into the lyrics. It could easily just be him and his neurotic ways and his slight obsession with music. 

When he gets on the bus, Louis isn’t already in their seat, but boys in the year above him are a few rows back, and they’ve got sneers on their faces that make Harry uncomfortable. He sits, hears _cocksucker_ thrown at his back, and watches Louis walk up the steps. He meets Harry’s eyes, and Harry watches him eye the other boys in the back. He hears _faggot_ and laughter and then he’s watching Louis walk right past their seat and into another one. 

And it’s not the homophobia that makes tears sting in Harry’s eyes. He’s been taking that since he was about twelve. But the heartbreak, the heartbreak is new. 

***

The next two weeks, Harry sits alone and drowns himself in sad music ([more Ben Howard](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pYyXP5ItXE), which stings a little, and [John Mayer](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEge2lxOMTM)) and schoolwork. It’s not his best time. He refuses to look at Louis. He wears headphones whenever he can because it feels like hateful comments are chasing him. He wishes he could cover his eyes so it wouldn’t feel like Louis’ stare is, too. The bus rides make him grovel, and he’d much rather walk for an hour than endure Louis looking at him like _that._ With the eyes and the worry and the pity. Harry hates him and he loves him and he thinks that maybe mixed feelings are the worst things on the planet. He crosses his legs and does his homework while lyrics about falling asleep with roses in his hands plays in his ears. 

He almost smashes his iPod. 

His sad playlist is played a considerable number of times, and his Louis one is neglected. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, really. He’ll talk to Nick and Niall and Will, but he still has a hollow in his stomach, and it feels like it gets even bigger when finally, Louis plops himself next to Harry one day on the bus. He’s rigid and quite obviously scared, but he takes Harry’s hand and uncurls it from where it had folded up into a fist so tight that his knuckles had gone white. 

Harry watches Louis as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and slips out a piece of paper. He doesn’t utter a word as he closes Harry’s fist back around it. Harry clenches it and blinks hard, turning his gaze from Louis to the window because he’s not so sure how he feels about Louis sitting next to him. He waits for the rumble of the bus to start beneath him and for the trees to be whirring past the window to open the paper. 

On the outside, it reads his name in Louis’ messy scrawl. Harry swears he feels Louis’ eyes on him again. Harry turns up [Crystal Castles](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32udqal_lyQ) in his ears like it might drown everything else out. 

The inside is songs. 

_to make up for the past two weeks. just listen close._

_(i looked most of these artists up because of you. so, cheers. they’re all lovely.)_

_[smother](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDZaiM8oAOU) – daughter_

_[you are the best thing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ3xTjvj9tw) – ray lamontagne _

_[quesadilla](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-t5nlvzUZM) – walk the moon _

_[flightless bird, american mouth](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1BgYTZ4Mxc) – iron & wine_

_[islands](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ca7z8ymdQ6c) – young the giant _

_[look after you](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vl7spqkXgpY) – the fray _

_[why don’t you call me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTFp4ZxSeT4) – james blake _

_[if i had a boat](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dv7WllrZOcI) – james vincent mcmorrow _

_[better together](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u57d4_b_YgI) – jack johnson_

_i am the world’s biggest twat. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. you’re lovely, harry. and you deserve the best. forgive me for my immaculate horridness? or don’t, cos i probably don’t deserve it. – lou x._

Harry really wants to break out “[It’s Not Right But It’s Okay](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J538b-OLRU)” but he’s not so sure if it’s either right _or_ okay, so he sits next to him in his seat and says “‘[When Did Your Heart Go Missing?](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZLkw9io9C0)’ – Rooney.” And that’s it, for now. 

***

And it’s gradual, after that. Mostly Louis being pleading and giving him love songs that make something in his tummy twist, and Harry being passive aggressive by giving songs that probably fuck with Louis’ head. He always regrets it the moment after he does it. His Louis playlist grows steadily longer, though, and he’s thankful for that. That they get gentle brushes of hands and glances that last too long. Harry can’t really take it, though. They don’t even talk, and he’s not so sure what he’s supposed to do. 

“‘[Howlin’ for You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3scl0fl0zE)' – Black Keys,” Louis says. 

Harry tightens his arms across his chest. He’s not sure if it’s to hold back from lashing out or holding on. He digs his fingers into his biceps. “‘[Treefingers](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKF-gVlt1hs)” – Radiohead.”

Louis pulls on his hair, and Harry wants to tell him not to. “That song doesn’t even have any lyrics.” 

“Because I don’t know what to say to you!” Harry all but yells. 

Louis places a hand on Harry’s arm, and Harry’s not petulant enough to shake it off. “Harry,” he whispers. 

“What, Louis? What? I try not to be irrational, because I wouldn’t normally get so mad over something like this, but the second one person brings up the fact that I’m gay, you’re out? Christ, I’m not gonna spread it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I’m not contagious. Though it’s not like you haven’t been leading me on this whole time.”

“I don’t care that you’re gay,” Louis mutters. 

“Really,” Harry says dryly. “It sure doesn’t feel like that, Lou.”

“I was scared, okay?”

“Scared of what? I don’t fucking bite. Christ.”

“Will you shut up? And let me talk?” Louis snarls, their voices still low, Harry’s arms still tight across his chest and his nails assuredly leaving red marks on his biceps. 

Harry glances out the window to see where they are. “You’ve got about a minute. Fire away,” Harry growls, flicking his hair out of his eyes and wanting to keep his anger levels higher than his sadness. He doesn’t want to cry. 

“I wasn’t scared of you, Harry. It was me, okay? You’re not the only one who’s been called a faggot.” Harry bites his lip. “It has been something that has followed me my whole life, and figuring it out is scary for me. I didn’t know what to do. I fucked up. That’s all I can say." He takes a deep breath. "That’s all I can say, and I’m sorry and you know I’m a twat and you know I’m okay with it, and – I’m okay with you. So, I’m sorry,” he says again, voice getting gradually lower.   

The bus squeaks to a stop after Harry sits in several seconds of silence. “Walk home with me tomorrow,” Harry says, and it’s not so much of a request. 

Louis nods, and Harry brushes his fingers over his as he removes himself from his seat, puts his bag over his shoulder, and walks home to scream at his ceiling and hopes his cat doesn’t fright because of him. 

***

The next morning, Louis sits next to him as usual, but he takes Harry’s hand from where it’s tightly wrapped around the strap of his bag and places it on his thigh. Louis gently rests his hand on top, but doesn’t tangle their fingers together. Harry wants to. 

He doesn’t. 

He spends the day with his fingers drumming on every surface he sees and picking at the loose threads of his navy button down. He flicks through his iPod nervously in class, and he doesn’t take notes during any of his lectures. He figures he can sacrifice one day. For the greater good. His mates give him worried looks, but by the end of the day he’s rushing out of that damn English class and waiting by the fence after the buses have gone. 

It takes a few minutes for Louis to appear, but sure enough, he’s striding over with aviators perched on his nose, fringe falling loosely in his eyes, and light wash jeans hugging his thighs in just the right places. Harry pushes his hair from his face and takes a deep breath. When Louis is in front of him, he almost looks small. Harry pulls him into his arms and keeps him close. Louis’ arms find his waist and press their bodies together, and Harry stands and just breathes. 

After they pull apart, their chests still stay close together, and Harry searches Louis’ eyes for something that he can’t seem to find. He turns and starts to walk. They don’t say anything for a while. They walk on the sidewalks with their sides brushing and the sound of the cars rushing by too loud. Once they’re closer to town, Louis stops at a bench and sits, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling gently. Harry sits down, too. 

“Are we gonna talk?” Louis asks. 

“Only if you have something to say,” Harry responds gently, the toe of his shoe scraping along the ground. 

“Do you?”

“Of course I do,” Harry says. “I’m just not sure how to say it.”

“I want you to trust me,” Louis sighs. “You know I’m sorry, right? My big gay freak out ruined everything.”

“We’re not ruined,” Harry argues. He puts an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “But I want to know what we’re doing, Lou. Are we just gonna ignore that we’ve been flirting through love songs for the past two months?”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Louis states proudly. “In fact, I plan on continuing flirting with you through love songs.” Harry giggles softly into Louis’ shoulder, and Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s unruly hair. “There we are,” Louis whispers. “Love your laugh.” Harry sneakily kisses Louis’ neck from where his head is and hopes he gets away with it. Louis unwinds his arm from around Harry and stands. He offers a hand to Harry to stand, and when he does, their fingers stay tangled. “Let me walk you home.”

They walk home. They don’t say much more, but the tension has lessened in Harry’s lower back, and his hand is twisted with Louis’. It’s comfortable, knowing that he’s there, and once they reach Harry’s house, he says, “Can I show you a place?”

“Sure,” Louis answers. 

So Harry tugs on Louis’ hand a little, pulls him into his backyard, and into the woods. There’s a clearing a few feet in, and then they’re just surrounded by flourishing green, and it feels peaceful. Personal. Intimate. “I come here to think, sometimes.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Louis murmurs, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Can I still give you a song, even though we didn’t take the bus?”

“Of course,” Harry says. “I have one, too.”

 Louis kicks his foot in the dirt. “Okay, so the song is about a volcano, but if you ignore that, the sentiment is still kinda there. ‘[Pompeii](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F90Cw4l-8NY)’ by Bastille.” 

“Good one,” Harry breathes. “I think we can start fresh though, yeah? No rubble or sins or volcanoes exploding on our city.”

Louis laughs. “Hey, I picked it last night. We’re good now.”

Harry nods, but scratches the back of his neck with his free hand nervously. He coughs and starts, “Um, I was gonna give you this song like, three weeks ago, before that day, but –  ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ – Fleet Foxes.”

Louis’ breath hitches. “Can I give you another?” Harry nods. “‘[Kiss Me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFfKb_WEkCE)’ – Ed Sheeran.”

So Harry does, untangling their fingers and bringing his hands up to cup Louis’ jaw, his thumbs smoothing across his cheekbones and pressing their lips together. Louis’ hands sit on his hips and pull him close. He opens his lips a little and catches Louis’ upper lip between them. Louis pushes his tongue into Harry’s lower lip and latches on with his teeth, pulling a little, his light stubble scratching against Harry’s cheek and his nose bumping his. Harry laughs a little, giggles into Louis’ mouth and pulls back, kissing him lightly once more and letting his eyes flutter open, but not moving his hands from where they’re still moving across Louis’ cheeks. Louis’ moves them instead, placing his own on top and taking them to his waist. 

Louis’ lips find Harry’s neck, sucking dirtily and kissing up and down it. He bites at his collarbone and at the corner of his jaw, breathing a little into his ear and licking right beneath it. He kisses Harry again, and then kisses his cheek. They stare, after that, at each other, their kiss swollen lips and glassy bright eyes. 

“Remember the first day we sat together, and you told me that most days you were Louis? You never told me what you were on the other days. I’m still curious.” Harry’s not sure why he chose now to bring this up, but they were both just staring, and he was getting hot under his gaze. 

“And since we’ve snogged you think I’ll tell you?” Louis gasps. 

“Maybe?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes a little. 

“Most days, I’m Louis. Other days, I’m your dream come true.” He winks. Harry snorts loudly, but leans his head against his shoulder. 

“That’s everyday, Lou,” Harry murmurs, but he can’t hold in the laughter at himself. 

Louis ducks his head in shame, shaking his head slowly, tsking. “I can’t decide who’s cornier. I was bad, but I think you might be on a whole other level.” Harry squawks in protest, but Louis covers his mouth with his hand. “Accept defeat, Harold.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but licks Louis’ hand to get him to move it away. Louis frowns and wipes it on Harry’s jeans. “Can I give you another song, since you gave me one?”

“Go for it.”

“‘[Dance With Me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zp8CqqY-OYg)’ – Ra Ra Riot.” 

“Okay,” Louis says. He leans up to Harry’s ear. “You’re definitely cornier.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry whispers back, taking Louis’ hand and fitting the other to his hips. “I like corny.”

So they dance to the songs in their heads in the woods behind Harry’s house, and that’s all they really need. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! all feedback is immensely, immensely appreciated. you can kind me on tumblr @ eroticlou


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